One Second and a Million Miles
by ariandezra-archive
Summary: Being a housewife was never something Aria Montgomery had planned for herself. For two years, she's been stuck in a stale marriage. New York Times journalist, Ezra Fitz, is a wanderer with no real home. He goes where his assignments take him. However, when their paths cross, their worlds change and the meaning of love is redefined for them both.
1. Chapter 1

**Long time, no see everyone! I want to get back into writing and have had an idea that's been circling my head for the past month. I don't plan on this story being one of epic proportions, but it's something I'm very excited to write and to share with you all. **

**It's loosely based off of _The Bridges of Madison County_ (a novel by Robert James Waller, then a movie with Meyrl Streep, now a gorgeous Broadway musical that I highly reccomend). Of course, there's major differences to fit this to Ezria, but I have it all planned out and I hope you enjoy what I have to share with you. **

**You know the deal; 20 or more reviews gets you a chapter faster! I'd really like to know what you have to say about this, especially because the source material is something near and dear to my heart. **

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

**"F**our days," her husband says. _Four days_ – its those two words that Aria Montgomery repeats to herself as she watches his silver Toyota Prius drive down the road, moving further and further down the road and farther away from their small Victorian style home and the porch that she's watching from. Soon he'll be driving out of Rosewood and then not too long after that, he'll be out of Pennsylvania altogether. And for some reason, those simple facts give Aria peace of mind.

It's not that she doesn't enjoy marriage or being in the company of her husband, but at twenty-two, Aria wouldn't mind a couple of days where the responsibility of being a wife isn't the first thought that pops into her head. For four days, she's allowed to sit back and relax, maybe do some things that normal twenty-two year olds do. Perhaps she'll catch up with one of her friends or do some shopping in a store that doesn't sell fresh produce. Why a convention for marketing has to take four days is a mystery to her, but Aria isn't one to complain.

Their home isn't like the lavish mansions that decorate the rest of Rosewood. In fact, Aria and her husband live in the downtown area near her Alma matter, Hollis College. It's ridden with pubs and dorms, but being around people her age doesn't make Aria feel so old beyond her actual years. Her husband isn't much older; Jake is twenty-four with big dreams and gigantic plans to attain said dreams. Aria was nineteen when he proposed. She thought what she and Jake had been love, so she said yes.

Except, Aria isn't in love with Jake. She appreciates him and the life he provides for her, but her toes don't tingle when they kiss and her heart doesn't beat out of her chest when he looks at her. That's how she knows she isn't in love with him. Aria doesn't believe that marriage took the thrill out of the relationship; there was never something there between them and it took married life to see it. But Aria won't leave. She can't. She wouldn't be able support herself on her own, especially with no job unless being a housewife became a profession.

Meandering into the kitchen, Aria pours herself another cup of coffee. Her hip leans against the counter as she takes a small sip of the bitter liquid. She likes her coffee black.

Not leaving Rosewood after graduation wasn't Aria's initial intention. After her freshman year, she met a few girls who planned to hear up to New York and they were all going to get a place to share while they made their way as workingwomen in the city. But obviously, things changed when she married Jake. As Aria looks out the window, she sighs. This life – the solidarity, the staleness, the lackluster bedroom activities and the non-tingling kisses – it has never been the life she envisioned for herself.

* * *

**H**e has four days to write this article. As he drives his navy blue Chevrolet pick-up truck past the 'Welcome to Rosewood' sign, Ezra Fitz contemplates just how he'll go about getting interviews about small town life. Should he go door-to-door like some salesman or camp out in the local coffee shop and ask every customer who walks in if he, a writer from the New York Times, can interview him or her? Ezra picks the second option. It's far less skeevy than the first.

At twenty-six, he considers himself a man of the world. Unlike most men his age, Ezra has driven the same blue pick-up around the entire country for whatever assignment his boss has in store for him. The only time he ever takes a plane is if he's venturing off to another country. Ezra would rather have the opportunity to see the country for all it's worth, even if it means driving a million miles.

Driving also gives him time to think. When Ezra got divorced from his college girlfriend, Jackie, he drove all the way from New York to Florida to clear his mind. When he's looking for inspiration, a quick run around the block usually allows something to perk his interest. Car rides are quiet, which is why Ezra likes them the best. He thinks of his blue truck as his home. New York might be his home base, but Ezra doesn't belong to anyone or anything. He's the world's man.

Rosewood and its people is his subject for four whole days. It's Ezra's canvas, and over the next few days, he plans to paint it with his excellent vocabulary and love for the English language. As he drives around to get the feel of the town, he notices just how small it is. Downtown isn't too far from the residential area. The main strip for shopping isn't too far from the school. He assumes it must be the kind of town where everyone knows everyone; Ezra couldn't be more right.

However, there are two coffee shops in Rosewood. One down towards the local college and one up towards the supermarket where mothers in Lulu Lemon yoga pants push carts around with their perfectly manicured hands. Which one would be the best to conduct his interviews is unbeknownst to him.

Ezra circles his car around a couple more times. He seems to find himself more drawn to the downtown area of Rosewood, simply because it has a more rustic feel than the evenly painted houses and lawns cut with absolute precision by people that aren't their owners. Downtown Rosewood is far quainter, with younger people milling about and small Victorian homes that double as apartments. Ezra feels at home here and not as if everyone will stare at him funny if he choses to stay here for a few days. So, he parks out front a light yellow Victorian home with intentions to ask directions towards Downtown Rosewood's coffee shop. Before going to ring the doorbell, he runs a hand through his tufts of dark curly hair and shifts his crumpled button down so it lays right and looks presentable.

* * *

**B**y now, Aria has kicked back in her small living room, a new cup of coffee warming her hand while she watches a rerun of some old sitcom from the 90s. In this moment, she is content. She's also pretending that she's inside a small New York apartment built for one rather than her home built for two. Having Jake gone lifts a feeling of suffocation Aria hadn't noticed until his car pulled out of the driveway earlier that morning.

Usually, the sound of a motor cutting wouldn't bother her, but it's so close to her house that Aria springs to her feet. Part of her is paranoid that Jake decided to skip the conference and suffocate her some more. The other part is curious, as it would and _should_ be for a twenty-two year old. Her doorbell ringing causes Aria's heart to race. Jake wouldn't ring the doorbell; he has his own set of keys. This must be a stranger, she figures, and her heart begins to pound wildly at the possibilities.

Of course, it could be some psychopath, but Aria has better faith in the world than that. Padding over barefoot towards the door, she tucks some curly strands of her chestnut color hair behind her ear. Aria's dainty hand twists the knob and soon, her front door swings, putting her face to face with a beautiful stranger. He has inky colored hair that falls in messy curls on his head and blue eyes that cause something electric to pulse inside of her. It's almost like a _zing_ through her entire body. However, Aria completely unaware of how much more fate plans for her than a simple _zing._


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry about that lull! I've been very busy. I graduated high school, which was pretty cool. **

**Anyways, here's the second installment! Please leave a review! How about we get 10 (or more) and an update will be here before you realize (I promise; it's summer, so I have more time to write). **

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

**T**he stranger combs his hair with his hand and asks her where the nearest coffee shop is. Aria all but refrains from closing her eyes to relish the sound of his voice. It's deep timbre and velvety soft. He isn't booming loud like her husband, but he isn't timid. It's the perfect balance and for a second more, Aria allows herself to be caressed by the sound as he asks her again.

"Ma'am, are you alright? Or is there no coffee shop around here?" Despite the richness of his voice, she pulls herself together. _She has a husband_. That's her new mantra in order to keep her from jumping the handsome stranger standing in her doorway. Aria's brain is swimming with sexual frustration and an attractive man only a foot away from her isn't helping very much.

"Sorry," she coughs out, her hand gripping the doorknob to steady herself. "Right. The nearest coffee shop is on Hollis' campus. It's a ten minute drive from here, but you need to have a pass."

She watches as the stranger's eyes become conflicted. Either he had someone to meet there or he was really in need of coffee. The crystal clear blue of his orbs are now clouded and turning dark. Aria's intrigued – Jake's eyes never do that. Then again, Jake doesn't show much emotion in the first place.

The man groans softly and something inside Aria curls up. She doesn't understand why she's feeling this way inside. Summer is to blame. It's sweltering outside and is getting to her head – that's what Aria keeps telling herself. "Do you want coffee or anything? I can always brew you a cup if you really need one."

He shakes his head. "No, I…um…" Aria watches him as he tries to reason with his hands to convey what he's doing. They're strong looking and calloused on the fingertips. She wonders what it would feel like to touch his palm and feel the roughness. Jake's hands are always smooth – too smooth to be the hands of a man.

"I promise you, it's not poisonous. Unless you like a little arsenic in your coffee." She quirks a small smile and it's one that makes an impression on Ezra. It's lilting with an air of mischief, clearly defining the girl standing in front of him. She looks too old to be a teenager, but too young to be a housewife. However, the picture of her and Jake on the side table just in his view says otherwise. As does the small ring on her finger.

He shakes his head once more. "As tempting as that sounds, I'm going to have to pass. I'm actually trying to get to the coffee shop. I've just blown into town…don't really know my way around."

"I see now – my coffee isn't good enough for you."

Aria watches as his eyes widen and she tries to hold back a giggle. Making someone squirm has always been fun for her, as vindictive as it sounds. The man sputters slightly before cracking a crooked smile. It causes Aria's knees to weaken ever so slightly. She has the sudden urge to reach out and run her fingers over his brims.

"It's not so much the coffee," the stranger says. "I'm Ezra – Ezra Fitz. I'm a writer for the New York Times. I came here to write a piece on suburban life and interview different kinds of people. You know, like maybe a college student versus an 80 year old woman who's lived her all her life."

_Ezra_. Ezra sounds unique. Ezra sounds much nicer than Jake. Everybody is named Jake. Everybody is like Jake. But not him; not _Ezra_. Something spurs inside of Aria. It's a tingle that begins from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. It feels like the beginning of a schoolgirl crush, like the one she had on her English teacher in the tenth grade.

"Well, Mr. Fitz, if you allow me to make you a cup of my poison free coffee, you could interview me?" She'll do anything to keep him here. There's something about this Ezra Fitz that draws Aria in; something she isn't ready to let go of just yet.

* * *

**T**en minutes later, Ezra is seated at Aria's kitchen table. He takes in the décor around him as she settles a bright yellow mug in front of him. It's quaint – not too big or fancy. There's wooden countertops and a teal, vintage looking oven. The other appliances, such as her fridge and dishwasher, are the same as the oven. There are a few pictures and planter pot of orchids. Otherwise it's simple and seems to suit Aria, who sits down in the chair opposite him.

He's attracted to her. Aria has an easy smile and bright hazel eyes that glimmer while he speaks. If he looked up 'lovely' in the dictionary, her picture could be beside the definition. But she is married. And he never steps into a world where people belong to one another.

"So, Mr. Fitz, you have your coffee. Now for your questions." Aria folds her hands underneath her chin. Ezra can tell she's strong; demure, but strong. She has an air of grace around her, but something seems off. Behind the depths of hazel is sadness, something of discontentment. The more he sits across from her, the more he wants to know what is plaguing her.

"How did you end up in Rosewood?"

"I went to Hollis for a degree in English. I graduated last year, actually. I met my husband there. After I graduated, we just decided to settle downtown. He already had a job that he didn't want to uproot from. That's how I ended up here."

He continued to ask Aria questions – about her upbringing, her childhood, her friends, and her years in college. Every time, she answered honestly. Ezra could tell just by how earnest and eager Aria was to reply. She was fluid in her answers; clearly, her degree in English hadn't gone to waste.

There was no denying the electricity in the air. Aria and Ezra were two attractive beings with an acute awareness of one another. Their conversation flowed like water ebbing onto a sandy shore effortlessly. So much so that hours went by and the sun set outside the window. Neither of them noticed.


End file.
